Chapter 7 #2
The rotors could punch through the bubble—go through her and the rest of the machine. Or pieces could fly off. Possibly hit Gibson or Ethan. And that wasn’t even accounting for simply destroying another chopper. Exactly what her boss had told her not to do.
Only took her thirty seconds to get in close.
Realize there was only one snowmobile instead of two.
It wasn’t until she was abreast of them, she was able to distinguish two distinct heat signatures.
That eased the pounding in her chest. Allowed her to release the breath she’d been holding when she’d thought one of them had been left behind.
Especially when she knew that meant whoever wasn’t there had been killed.
Because neither Ethan nor Miller would ever leave a teammate behind.
Not if there was even a remote chance they’d live.
Not being dead was a good start. Though, it didn’t mean they weren’t hurt.
Weren’t bleeding out as they eked their way through the snow.
Was the machine moving slower than usual?
Didn’t it have a top speed of over a hundred?
Had they broken off one of the skis because it looked as if the thing was lurching.
Chugging ahead for a few seconds then pausing—shaking—then lurching, again.
Not that she could see the actual machine that well, but she had a good view of their infrared images. Saw a decent amount of detail through her NVGs, and it was impossible to miss how their bodies shot forward, then slowed, only to repeat the process.
A wave from whoever was driving. Miller, she thought.
His body looked wrong to be Ethan. A bit too tall and lean.
Ethan was broader. Thicker. Even dressed in full winter gear, wearing helmets, she knew.
Had spent nearly a year learning every dip and curve.
Every hard plane and banded muscle. All she needed was a hint of his silhouette, and she felt the rightness in it.
Crazy, when she barely recognized herself, lately.
Olivia waited until she’d put enough distance between them she could bank the helicopter over—peel back without burying them in snow from the down draft.
So she wouldn’t make what was likely a bad situation worse.
Though, with how slow they were traveling, it took constantly weaving behind them, not to overtake them.
She could have returned to base. They weren’t that far off—maybe fifteen minutes, but she’d be damned if she’d leave their safety up to chance. Not when they were obviously experiencing issues. When something catastrophic had happened.
Instead, she radioed in—told Bishop to standby.
Have that new doctor ready to go. Then, she followed behind, constantly scanning to ensure they were alone.
That they weren’t trailing a full-on wet squad behind them.
There was a moment of uncertainty. When the sled simply stopped for a couple of minutes.
Headlamp flickering. The heat signature from the engine slowly cooling before the driver got it going—literally kicked the damn thing before climbing back on. Starting, again.
She’d thought about landing, but after Ethan’s comment... She doubted he’d climb on board. Would probably decide to hike in, just to spite her. Which meant, Miller would, too. Hold true to the creed of never leaving a teammate behind. The one she’d broken when she’d walked away from that crash.
Olivia sighed. She’d done what had been necessary to save both their lives. Agonizing over it, now—several months after the fact—wouldn’t solve anything. Just kept that guilt gnawing at her gut from finally easing.
Seeing the lodge appear out of the darkness got her mind back on the present.
On outcomes she could affect. Like doing one more recon before heading for the helipad.
A few wide circles of the perimeter confirmed the men hadn’t been followed.
At least, not closely. Another flyby, and they were pulling into the open area in front of the resort.
Heading around to the security center at the back.
She aimed for the pad, calling out her intentions, then landed the chopper in a swirling cloud of snow, despite her efforts to limit the approach time.
Try to minimize the downwash. Though, seeing the men get covered by the blowing powder as they parked at the edge of the landing area made her smile—more than it should have.
Not that Bishop deserved the dousing. At least, she assumed the guy stepping out from the hanger was Bishop.
But Gibson and Ethan did. Worrying her when they should have called for a pickup as soon as things went tits up.
She didn’t care whether Ethan wanted to fly with her, or not.
Safety, first. And she was pretty damn sure her flying skills topped their snowmobiling ones.
A quick cool down, and she was out and walking over to them, hands fisted at her sides.
Mouth pinched tight. Whether it was the anger that they’d purposely not contacted her or the relief of seeing them alive that made her hands shake—again—she wasn’t sure.
All she knew was that the tough MI6 exterior she’d mastered over the past several years never cracked, except the two other times she’d been worried about Ethan.
That crash, and the shootout with Slader. His life on the line.
Gibson held up his palms when she got within several feet of them, his playboy smile not helping cool the heat burning beneath her skin. “Easy, Livy. Everything’s fine.”
Livy. Did he seriously think using her nickname—the one only he used—would soothe her?
She crossed her arms as she stopped in front of them. “Fine? You show up on one snowmobile, over an hour late, but it’s fine? Why the hell didn’t you call in?”
“We had everything under control—”
“Which is Miller-speak for you couldn’t be arsed to waste five seconds of your time to let me know you were simply behind schedule.
” She jerked her thumb toward Ethan, doing her best to look anywhere but at him.
“Or is this your way of saying you agree with this prat and don’t think I’m up to the task? ”
Ethan coughed, got her attention. “Prat?”
“Trust me. It’s much nicer than you deserve. Well?”
Gibson’s smile flourished. Went supernova, the bastard. “Now, love...”
“Don’t you dare try to charm your way out of this.”
“My charm doesn’t seem to work with you. Never has.” He reached into his pocket—pulled out his sat phone. “I didn’t call because the bloody thing got broken. And the mobile service around here is utter tosh.”
Olivia took what was left of the unit, inhaling sharply. “Is that from a bullet?”
She looked up, taking a moment to do a slow sweep of each of them, cursing under her breath at the patches of blood on Ethan’s jacket and Gibson’s trousers. “You’re hit.”
“Barely a scratch on either of us. Promise.”
“That’s complete bollocks. I have eyes, Miller.”
“So do I, and the lady’s right.”
She gasped, then turned, staring into a stunning set of hazel eyes—a familiar set.
Hands on her shoulders, moving her aside, then Gibson was in front. Right up in the man’s face. “You arse! What the hell are you doing here?”
The guy—was his name Brady? She couldn’t quite remember. Had been in and out of consciousness at the time, but he’d treated her after they’d all dealt with Slader. Had kept her breathing before she’d been taken to a hospital, then quickly and quietly extracted.
He’d been wearing a hat, sunglasses and some kind of neck gaiter, earlier, so she hadn’t recognized him on the flight in. But then, she’d flown in a bunch of men, today, all of whom had been wearing the same stock clothing, with similar physiques. Large. Built. They’d tended to blend together.
Brady smiled. “The other doctor had an unfortunate accident. They needed someone with top-secret clearance, who’d been vetted and was close, so I got the call.”
“Talk about bollocks.” Somehow Gibson got even more up in the guy’s face. “Who called you? Cannon?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m here, now, Gib.”
“Not if I have any say. Livy, do me a favor and take Coen back to whatever airport you picked him up at.”
She looked at the guy—Coen—then back at Gibson.
“Can’t.” She stopped Gib with a raise of her hand.
“System’s coming in. Cloud layer’s too low.
I was lucky to get enough height to come looking for you two wankers.
No way I’d be able to clear that far ridge.
The weather should improve tomorrow. Though, I assume that’s his decision, not yours. ”
Coen chuckled. “I like her. Looks like you healed up nicely. I’m glad.
You had me worried for a while, there. All that blood loss.
And I’m not going anywhere, Gib, so stow that charm and get your ass to the infirmary.
Before that slug still stuck in your thigh turns septic.
And yeah, I can tell it didn’t go all the way through simply by looking at you.
” A glance behind her. “You, too, Vale. And don’t even pretend I don’t see the blood on your pants, or your shirt.
You’ve been hit twice, though, they look more like grazes, judging from the damage to your clothes. ”
Ethan had been hit twice? She’d noticed the line of blood by his shoulder, but…
A look behind her and there it was. A huge red patch on his trousers.
Close to where Gibson was caught. Mid-thigh.
Only Ethan’s was toward the front of his leg, not the middle.
Still, it sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Made it hard to pull in her next breath because a few inches higher while sitting on the sled, and he would have been hit in the torso. Would have been in serious trouble.
Coen stepped back, his arms crossed over his chest. “Now, Gib. Before I get impatient.”
“You are such a sod, you know that? Do you have any idea how dangerous this could get?”
“Seeing as I keep patching up everyone this asshole comes into contact with, yeah. Intimately aware.”
“What about Finley? She chumming around, too?”
“Training course with Jonah — a few hundred miles east of here. Discounting all the risks of being in the mountains in winter, she’s as safe as she can get from your brand of trouble. Any other excuses you want to toss my way? Because I’ll have an answer for all of them.”
Gib glowered at Coen. “Why are we mates, again?”
“I always thought it was because you secretly fancied me.”
A pause, then a laugh. Deep. Raspy. “Bastard. Fine, play nursemaid, if you must. But you’ll keep your arse out of the line of fire. Period.”
Bishop stepped forward, glancing at Coen as if to get the go ahead.
That the other man was done talking. “Ya know, Gibson. Olivia mentioned something about it not being an official mission with you until bullets started flying. Guess she wasn’t wrong.
Once Brady patches both of you up, we’re going to have a talk. All of us.”
He looked at his watch. “One hour, my room. I’ll do a sweep.
Make sure no one’s listening. In the meantime, I’ll be talking to Cannon.
If shit’s going sideways, already—and I don’t need to hear the story to know that it is—we’ll need reinforcements.
The kind that will blend in and give us better access to the attendees without it linking back to us, and I think he’ll have the connections to make it happen. ” He took a step back. “One hour.”
Bishop headed off, muttering to himself. Coen watched Bishop disappear into the hanger, then motioned to Gibson. Miller snorted, giving Coen a light shove as he ambled past, heading for the rear door.
Coen glanced at them. “Don’t make me come find you, Vale.”
Then, he was off, following the route Gibson had taken, leaving her there with the one man she wanted to strangle. Or worse, kiss.
Olivia closed her eyes as she took a couple of deep breaths, opening them to find Ethan staring at her. Looking as if he wanted to strangle her, too.
She stood a bit straighter, glancing at the door then back. Not sure whether to speak or just walk away. Thankfully, Ethan broke eye contact, first. Took a few steps away before glancing at her. He opened his mouth, then closed it, giving her a nod before walking briskly over to the door.
He grabbed the handle and reefed the door open, pausing halfway through. His shoulders drooped before he gazed back at her over his shoulder. “I thought you said you wouldn’t come looking for my sorry ass, this time?”
She let half her mouth lift into a grin. “I did. And I was looking for Miller’s.”
A snort, and what appeared dangerously close to a smile. “Good to know.”
He shut the door firmly behind him, leaving her standing in the freezing weather, alone.
Heart still racing, her damn hands shoved in her pockets to hide that they hadn’t completely stopped shaking.
That she hadn’t pulled herself together.
Gotten the fear that she’d find them dead out of her system.
A gust of wind across her sweat-damp skin got her moving.
She’d roll the chopper into the hanger—get it ready for the long, cold night.
Then, she’d recon the lodge. Get a mental layout of where everything was located while she still had a chance.
After that, she’d go to Bishop’s room. Pretend it didn’t feel as if the walls were closing in on her with Ethan only a breath away.
Fake her way through the meeting then stare at the ceiling until her body finally shut down.
Another night alone with her thoughts.
Another night without him.